Because Of You
by xmagic
Summary: They (I’m gonna be evil and not tell you who it is – you’ll have to read to find out) got married, and things were great. For a little while. Bliss lost some of its perfection, and she didn’t like the storm clouds, so she got out.
1. Of Love

SUMMARY: They (I'm gonna be evil and not tell you who it is – you'll have to read to find out) got married, and things were great. For a little while. Bliss lost some of its perfection, and she didn't like the storm clouds, so she got out.  
  
GENRE: I suppose this is sort of a combination of things; romance, angst, humor, drama, and, 'cause of the ending I have in mind, tragedy (it's not really sad, no one dies or anything, but it kinda qualifies as a tragedy. Meh.).  
  
RATING: I've rated this R for a few reasons. The first being language; the second adult situations – mostly implied; and the third is a suicide attempt and a bit of self-mutilation. It's mostly the latter that will affect people, really. I think.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters, the places, or anything else. Meh. The characters and main ideas – being witchcraft, wizardry, Hogwarts, etc – belong to J.K Rowling. The plot belongs to me.  
  
A/N: I've written this 'cause I'm bored, and my brain's not functioning in the proper direction for either of my other fics. It might be kinda long, but whatever. The serious continuation of this project shall depend upon the reviews I receive; if no one reviews, I probably won't continue. If people review, I'll keep going.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
BECAUSE OF YOU  
  
CHAPTER ONE: OF LOVE  
  
She slept by the pool, lounge chair nearly perpendicular with the ground, her head turned slightly to the side. Tresses of shiny wine-red hue framed her angelic face, lightly feathered at the ends and reaching her shoulders. Doe-like cinnamon eyes were hidden behind closed lids, and the tiniest of smiles curved luscious, naturally bee-stung lips. One knee was raised the slightest bit, the other flat on the cushion of the lounger. One slender, lightly tanned hand dangled over the edge of the chair, and just reaching the fingertips was the spine of a book that had obviously been dropped. Her other hand rested lightly on her flat and bare stomach, just covering a pierced navel.  
  
In his eyes, she was begging to be kissed.  
  
He approached softly, slowly, much like a predator would stalk its prey. Mercury gaze drifted appraisingly over her bare legs, long and perfectly toned, tanned and glistening with the faintest sheen of sweat from the summer heat. His gaze traveled upwards, taking in the bikini bottoms of plain black, tied on each hip with a simple bow, and for a moment his eyes lingered on the wedding band and diamond engagement ring that resided on the hand covering her navel. A slow smile crept across his pale face, and his eyes lit up with an emotion that could only be described as love.  
  
His footsteps slowed as he came to stand beside her sleeping form, and he sat lightly on the edge of the lounge chair, careful not to wake his beloved. She stirred, her head turning from its sideways position to facing straight upwards, and for a moment he thought his game was finished. But she settled again, her breathing remaining smooth and even, and he brushed a stray tendril of hair from her face. Leaning down, he gently pressed his lips to hers, tasting the gloss that outlined her lips.  
  
Her eyes opened in shock, and her lips opened beneath his in a gasp of surprise. Taking that as an indication of her return to wakefulness, the blonde pulled away, a playful and satisfied smirk on his face. Cinnamon eyes registered recognition, as she saw his face, and she smiled, her face lighting up with the same love that shone in his eyes.  
  
"Did I wake you, love?" He asked innocently, curling a lock of her hair around his finger.  
  
She laughed, the sound light and intoxicating, catching the attention of the other hotel guests sitting by the pool or swimming in it. Several sets of eyes drifted towards the young couple, and she flashed them a brilliant smile before returning her attention to the man gazing down at her.  
  
"No, you didn't wake me," she lied, just as innocently, swatting his hand away as it drifted down to her breast.  
  
"Tsk, tsk, darling, lying to your elders. And your husband, no less," he chastised lightly, his hand resuming its travels over the surface of her body.  
  
Again, she swatted away the offending digits as they made to tease her breast, and she grinned up at him, delight written plainly across her delicate features.  
  
"You're only one year my senior," she pouted, pretending to take his gentle rebuke to heart.  
  
It was his turn to laugh now, at the expression of pleading innocence on her face. The sound was deep and low, and one she always loved to hear. Ceasing his laughter, he bent down again and caught her lips once more, taking her by surprise. His tongue slid velvety smooth over her bottom lip, and he bit softly before pulling away.  
  
Her eyes opened slowly, as he released her lips, and she smiled up at him, brushing a stray piece of platinum blonde from his face.  
  
"Love you," she murmured, caressing his cheek with her thumb.  
  
"Love you too," he replied, grasping her hand in his and kissing it softly.  
  
He stood, pulling her up with him, keeping her hand tight in his. Unconsciously, their fingers intertwined, as she grabbed her book and towel with her free hand and followed him from the poolside.  
  
"Where are we going?" She inquired, as they left the pool and its occupants behind.  
  
"Out," he replied, earning a quizzical look from his young wife.  
  
"I can't go out like this," she whined, as they entered the hotel lobby and he made for the front doors.  
  
He glanced down at her, a wicked smirk curling his lips. She let go of his hand, and stopped walking, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
"Why can't you go out like that?" He inquired, a playful glint in his eye.  
  
"'Cause I'm pretty sure you don't want a bunch of guys staring at me, wherever it is that we're going," she answered, knowing full well that the very idea of other men looking at her always made him want to hide her away, like a precious gem.  
  
Sighing, and knowing that she had taken advantage of his rather overprotective and possessive nature, he grabbed her hand again and pulled her towards the elevators. Once inside the ascending contraption, he pulled her to him and planted a tender kiss on her surprised lips.  
  
"Love you," he whispered in her ear after pulling away.  
  
"'Course you do. Everybody loves me," she teased, skipping out the door as the elevator came to a stop.  
  
Giggling like the teenager she still – technically – was, the eighteen-year- old raced down the hallway, crimson tresses bouncing with each step she took. He followed behind, walking much slower, mercury gaze fixed on the laughing goddess in front of him.  
  
She reached the door of their hotel room before he did, and waited none too patiently for him to arrive and let her into the room; she didn't have a key.  
  
"Can't get in, darling?" He asked wickedly, pulling a credit-card like piece of plastic from a pocket in his trousers.  
  
"No," she pouted, glaring at the room key he held in his hand.  
  
"Tut, tut, my dear; forgetting your room key. I could have gone off alone, leaving you by the pool, and then what would you have done?" He scolded teasingly, sliding the magnetized card through the accommodating slot on the door.  
  
"I didn't forget it; I just didn't have anywhere to put it. And besides, you wouldn't have left me by the pool if you'd gone somewhere, 'cause you can't stand the thought of me being somewhere that other men can look at me, without you being nearby to scare them off," she returned, sticking out her tongue and opening the door of the room.  
  
It was a fairly basic hotel room, with a queen-sized bed in the center, couch, television, table and chairs in a small room just off the main bedroom, and a large bathroom with both a shower stall and Jacuzzi tub. A pair of sliding glass doors led to a fair sized balcony overlooking the beach.  
  
She skipped inside, dropping contentedly on her back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Again, he followed more slowly, letting the door close behind him and coming to a stop at the foot of the bed where her feet stuck out over the edge. Shaking his head in wonderment, he watched as she jumped off the bed, grabbed her shower kit from her suitcase, which lay open on the floor, and disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
When he heard the shower turn on, he wandered into the other room, dropping gracefully on the couch. Leaning against the back of the couch, he spread his arms out over the cushions and thought back to when he had first realized she existed in more ways than just being the youngest sibling and only sister of one of his most hated enemies at the time. 


	2. Of Terror

BECAUSE OF YOU  
  
CHAPTER TWO: OF TERROR  
  
Flashback  
  
He watched from afar, not necessarily warm, but dry under his umbrella, as the redhead stood in front of the lake, drenched from head to foot by the rain that was falling in sheets from the steel gray heavens. She wasn't wearing her school uniform, but had garbed herself in a gown of plain white cotton that was stained with mud on the bottom hem by her ankles.  
  
He knew full well why he was outside at this time of night in such wretched weather; he was a prefect, and had been ordered to go look for the same redhead that was now walking slowly into the turbulent waters of the lake. But he wasn't sure why she was outside.  
  
Her hair hung in dripping curls around her face and shoulders, and the gown clung to her body like a second skin. Being sixteen, and rather observant when it came to the female anatomy, he noted the fact that she had filled out quite nicely, and was no longer the scrawny eleven-year-old with carrot- red hair that he remembered her as.  
  
She had stopped moving, and was now waist deep in the water. His attention drifted from her breasts, which he could see quite clearly through the soaked cotton, to a small piece of silver in her hand that caught the light from a flash of lightning above. In fascination, he watched as she held out her arm, porcelain skin bare and vulnerable. She turned her arm palm- upwards, and pulled her other hand across her bare wrist. He realized, as a steady, pulsating flow of crimson liquid left her wrist, what she was doing.  
  
Dropping the umbrella, he sprinted towards her, reaching her as she slid the now-blood-soaked blade across her other wrist. A clap of thunder sounded above, followed almost immediately by a flash of lightning. He had to give the girl a bit of grudging respect; she couldn't have chosen a better time to try and kill herself. If she didn't drown, she would die of blood loss, and if she didn't die of either of those, she would most likely be electrocuted by the lightning. He had no doubts that she probably had some pills stashed somewhere, too, should none of the methods visible at present work.  
  
Hell, he thought, she'd probably already taken something.  
  
He knew; he'd seen it before, and nearly tried it before.  
  
As she started to walk farther into the water, still unaware of his presence, the blonde grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back towards the shore. Oddly enough, she didn't struggle, and as he carried her onto the beach, he realized why; her body was completely limp.  
  
She had taken pills then, he mused.  
  
"Damn it, Weasley, you aren't going to die on me," he muttered aloud, pushing dripping blonde hair out of his face as he ripped off strips of his cloak to tie around her wrists in an attempt to stop the steady flow of blood, before picking her up like a baby and sprinting back towards the castle as fast as the rain-soaked lawns and his burden would let him.  
  
"M-Malfoy?" Her voice was weak, her eyes glazed over.  
  
He couldn't help but feel compassion for the girl in his arms, as he climbed the marble staircase as fast as he could.  
  
"Ssh, Ginny, it's all right," he murmured, climbing each new flight of stairs with adrenaline-induced speed.  
  
"T-t-tell... everyone......... I'm.................. sorry.... Draco........." Her breathing was labored, her voice barely audible, and he knew she was almost gone.  
  
She was hardly anything more than an empty vessel in his arms now, and he burst into the Hospital Wing yelling for Madame Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, anyone. The matron answered his call, bustling over and telling him that he needed to be quiet or he would wake her patients, before noticing the bleeding girl in his arms.  
  
"Oh no," gasped the nurse, directing him to lay the redhead down on the nearest unoccupied bed. He complied, setting her frail form lightly on the stark white sheets.  
  
The matron shooed him out of the way, and the sixteen-year-old watched as the old woman pulled out her wand, directing it at the ghostly white girl lying on the bed.  
  
"You, Malfoy, go find the Headmaster! Quickly, quickly! We don't have much time!" The nurse screeched the words, panic evident in her voice, and Draco sprinted out of the Hospital Wing. He tore along the corridors, making enough noise to wake the dead, and came to a halt only when he couldn't breathe. Uttering a very creative string of profanities, as he started running when he was able to breathe again, he turned a corner and nearly collided with the white-haired Headmaster.  
  
"P-Professor D-Dumbledore... Weasley... Hospital Wing... Bleeding... Dead... Ginny..." He was unable to string together a coherent sentence, but it appeared as though the Headmaster got the idea of what the Slytherin was trying to say.  
  
Before the final word had even left Draco's mouth, Albus Dumbledore was running as fast as his ancient body would allow down the corridor towards the Hospital Wing, followed much slower by a faint-feeling Draco Malfoy.  
  
When he finally reached the infirmary, Draco was terrified to see the curtains drawn around the girl's bed, and Professor Dumbledore talking to a group of three pale-faced and crying Gryffindors.  
  
Hermione Granger was sobbing hysterically into Harry Potter's chest, while the latter had silent tears streaming down his colorless cheeks. Ron Weasley appeared to be in shock, standing stock still, his face expressionless.  
  
The Headmaster turned at the sound of his footsteps, and the blonde boy looked meaningfully at the partitioned bed and then back at his professor. The three Gryffindors looked at him in horror, and it was only then that he noticed the blood on his hands, his clothes, his face.  
  
"She slit her wrists," he said in explanation, and Granger nodded in acceptance. The other two looked about ready to kill him, and Draco took an unconscious step backwards.  
  
His gaze traveled back to meet that of the Headmaster, and he waited with baited breath for the proclamation of death that he was sure was coming.  
  
"She is not dead, Draco. You saved her." The words of the ancient wizard took some time to penetrate his exhausted mind, but when they did, relief, sweet, warm relief, flooded through his body.  
  
He was surprised when, the next moment, Granger had flung herself on him, heedless of the blood and water that covered his body, and was sobbing into his shoulder. She hugged him tightly, as though he was her link to life, before letting go and stepping away, her clothing damp and spotted with red.  
  
"Y-y-y-y-you s-s-s-saved her, w-w-e w-w-ere a-all s-s-s-s-so w-worried w- when w-we c-couldn't f-find h-h-her, b-b-but y-you saved h-her!" The bushy- haired Head Girl turned back to Potter following this announcement, and resumed her hysterical crying into his chest.  
  
Draco was stunned, understandably so.  
  
Neither of the other two seemed entirely capable of speech, but both sent the blonde appreciative looks, and Draco felt a blush climb up his cheeks.  
  
As the last bits of adrenaline fled his system, he collapsed wearily on the bed closest to him, every muscle in his body screaming out in protest of his earlier exertions, his mind preparing to shut down and process all the information it had just received.  
  
Apparently, the Headmaster sensed his weariness, for he suggested that the Gryffindors leave the infirmary and go back to their dormitories, assuring them that they would be more than welcome to skip classes the next day and sit with the youngest Weasley.  
  
When silence had descended upon the Hospital Wing once more, the Headmaster spoke softly to the matron, who replied in the same soft tones, before the old man left and the nurse came bustling over to the bed on which Draco had collapsed.  
  
"You've had quite a night, Mister Malfoy," she commented, pulling a set of curtains around his bed before handing him a pair of silver and green pajamas and going off to her office.  
  
Refraining from making the snide comment that begged to be let from his tongue, Draco changed into the pajamas, more than happy to rid himself of his blood-soaked and sopping uniform. He climbed back onto the bed, dragging the blankets over his body as shivers of cold wracked his frame. The nurse returned a moment later, bringing with her a goblet full of blue liquid, which she placed on the side table.  
  
"The Headmaster wishes for you to remain here this evening, Mister Malfoy, and will return in the morning to speak to you about tonight's occurrences. Now drink this, and get some sleep." Her tone was business-like, as she offered him the goblet of potion.  
  
Again not making the comment that formed on his lips, Draco downed the too- sweet drink in one shot, and fell instantly asleep as the magical properties of the drink shut down his system.  
  
He woke the next morning to sunshine burning behind his closed eyelids, and when he opened his eyes it was to see that the infirmary was a hive of activity.  
  
The first place he looked was towards Ginny's bed, but the curtains were still drawn; he noted that his own partitions must have been taken away some time in the night. When the nurse saw that he was awake, she hurried over, giving him an unneeded checkup before hurrying off to see to another of her patients.  
  
Draco had been watching the bustle of activity, as students came requesting Calming Draughts before exams, cures for flues or colds, headache cures, and countercurses, when the Headmaster ambled into the Wing, strolling straight for Draco's bed.  
  
The ancient wizard appeared to be extremely tired, the blonde noted, as the former pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. Glittering blue eyes met stormy gray, and Draco was pleased when Dumbledore broke the eye contact first.  
  
"I need you to tell me exactly what happened last night, Mister Malfoy," requested the professor of the weary student.  
  
Draco's gaze drifted to the window, through which he could see the very spot where the youngest Weasley had stood the previous evening. Shuddering slightly, and berating himself for not getting to her sooner, he kept his gaze fixed on the now-calm water as he spoke.  
  
"As you know, the prefects and Head Boy and Girl were sent out last night, along with the teachers, to try and find the wayward Weasley. She had gone off alone, we were informed, by Potter and his entourage, who reported to you when they couldn't find her at first. After receiving our instructions, everyone drifted off to search various parts of the castle.  
  
"I went outside, figuring that, if she wanted to be alone, outside would be a good place to go. The weather was horrendous; no one in their right mind would go out in it unless they had a damn good reason. When I got close to the lake, I saw her, standing by the edge of the water.  
  
"I was curious, and didn't want to disturb her if she was doing some sort of spell, so I waited. She started walking into the water, but again, I wasn't exactly sure what she was doing, so I didn't disturb her. Something silver caught the flash of a lightning bolt, but from the distance I couldn't tell what it was. It was only when I saw the blood pouring from her wrist that I knew what she was doing.  
  
"I started towards her then, after I had watched her slit one wrist, and I only got to her after she had done the second. I pulled her out of the water, tied strips of cloth around her wrists to try and stop the bleeding; it didn't work too well.  
  
"I brought her to the castle, as fast as I could. She was dying, I could feel her going limp in my arms. She spoke only once, saying for me to tell everyone that she was sorry."  
  
He finished his tale in the same toneless voice he had started with, recalling in vivid detail the previous evening. His gaze met once again that of his Headmaster, but it was Draco who broke the link first.  
  
By the time Dumbledore had had all of his questions answered, the bustle of the Hospital Wing had died down, and the room was nearly silent. The Headmaster bade farewell to both Draco and the nurse, and excused himself to go talk to Molly and Arthur Weasley, who were apparently waiting to hear news of their daughter.  
  
When he was alone, the Dream Team not having shown up yet, Draco lay back against the pillows on his bed, weary from his interrogation. A soft moaning came from the bed to his right, accompanied by the sound of rustling sheets.  
  
He was out of his bed in an instant, pulling back the curtains surrounding her bed and looking down at the fifteen-year-old before him. She was slow to wake, eyelids fluttering, bandaged hands going to her eyes, and then back to her sides.  
  
She was scared, he could tell by the look on her face, when she was finally fully awake. She tried to sit up, tried to get out of the bed, but he pushed gently on her shoulder, restraining her.  
  
Terrified eyes met his, before her gaze flicked down to the bandages on her wrists. She tried again to sit up, but again he pushed her down. He wasn't entirely sure why he was so concerned about her wellbeing, but there was something about saving someone's life that left you worrying about them.  
  
"W-what happened?" She asked, her tone small and scared. "It wasn't all a dream, was it?"  
  
"No, Ginny, it wasn't a dream." His tone was gentle, soothing.  
  
She started to cry, silent tears falling from her chocolate eyes, as realization set in with his words.  
  
"I'm sorry... I didn't... I shouldn't have... But I did... And I almost... And... I'm sorry..."  
  
He crawled onto the bed, and, pulling her into his lap, he rocked her back and forth, waiting for the tears to stop. Before the girl had stopped crying, however, the matron came hurrying over, carrying with her a vial of clear liquid, which she ordered Ginny to drink. The woman refrained from remarking on the fact that Draco was there.  
  
The redhead obediently downed the clear liquid, and when she inquired as to what it was, the nurse informed them both that it was a painkiller. When Ginny told the woman that she wasn't in any pain to begin with, the matron said something about emotional pain, and disappeared.  
  
Ginny leaned back against the blonde boy once again, resting her head against his shoulder. He held her tightly, leaning into the pillows and the headboard.  
  
"Thank you," she sniffled, not looking at him.  
  
"You're welcome," he replied, placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head.  
  
She looked up at him then, unsure how to respond to his action. The faintest of reassuring smiles curved his lips, and she returned his smile with a weak one of her own. She was about to say something, when the sound of footsteps rang through the deserted room.  
  
Both looked towards the end of the row of beds, spotting a group of three Gryffindors making its way towards them. Seeing the apparently livid older brother of the girl he currently held in his arms, Draco gently removed Ginny from his lap, and climbed off her bed, returning to his own. Before the trio could say a word, he had grabbed his clothes, which had been lying on the table, and his wand, and disappeared into the washroom.  
  
He emerged a moment later, fully clothed, wand in pocket, and had started to leave the wing when he heard a patter of footsteps behind him. Turning, he was surprised to see Virginia Weasley, clad in a simple red and gold nightgown that hung to her knees, taking careful steps towards him.  
  
She looked so weak that he was compelled to lift her in his arms and return her to her bed. But he doused the urge, as she reached him, and chanced a glance back at her brother. He still looked livid. Ginny looked up at him, gratitude written across her face.  
  
She stood on her tiptoes, and he ducked his head slightly, so that he was at eye level with her. Perplexed as to her intentions, he waited for her to say something, and was understandably surprised when she pressed her lips to his swiftly and softly.  
  
"Thank you," she repeated her words from before.  
  
"You're welcome," he repeated himself as well, and watched as she turned and wobbled back to her bed.  
  
He turned away, and left the Hospital Wing without another word. When he had reached the privacy of the corridor, Draco shook his head in puzzlement both at her actions and his own. He knew that, were his father still alive, Lucius Malfoy would be furious with his son for saving the life of a Weasley. But Malfoy Senior had been killed the previous summer, following his escape from Azkaban prison. Truth be told, Draco was happier with his father dead.  
  
The blonde wandered aimlessly through the corridors, eventually making it to his private room in the Slytherin dungeons. Being a prefect, Draco had his own room, which was accessible both through the Slytherin common room and the corridor outside. After muttering the required password, he slipped through the open space of wall, heading straight for the bottle of firewhiskey concealed behind the door of his wardrobe.  
  
He drank all day, nursing the singular bottle of alcohol for the entire day, thinking constantly of one Virginia Weasley and her lips on his. When it came time for rounds that evening, Draco left his room, performing his prefect duties and returning to his brooding.  
  
'You're falling for her'; said his conscience, as Draco crawled into bed that night, the youngest Weasley still plaguing his mind.  
  
'I can't be falling for her; I've hardly noticed her for the five years I've been around her at school, and I know nothing about her'; he argued, as darkness settled around him.  
  
'You can so be falling for her – you just don't want to admit it because she's a Weasley. A damn fine Weasley, but a Weasley nonetheless'.  
  
'Well, sure, she looks good, but I don't date girls just for their looks'.  
  
'Aha! So you admit you think she looks good! And you admit that you would date her!'  
  
'I did no such thing! Well, the former, yes, but not the latter. I doubt she likes me anyway; I'm the horrible Slytherin git who torments her family, remember?'  
  
'You're in loooooooooooooooooooooooooooove!'  
  
'Am not!'  
  
'Are too.'  
  
'Fine. Say I am in love. What can I do about it?'  
  
'Talk to her.'  
  
'I can't do that, she'll think I want something from her because I saved her life. She'll think I'm just using her.'  
  
'Right. Perhaps you'll have to find another way to see if she has feelings for you.'  
  
'Good idea. But how?'  
  
'Talk to Potter.'  
  
'I CAN'T TALK TO WONDER BOY!'  
  
'Sure you can. You go right up to him, and you say; 'listen, Potter, I've got a thing for Virginia, but I don't know if she feels the same way about me. Can you find out for me?'  
  
'I can't do that; Potter's my enemy.'  
  
'If he's your enemy, then why are you fighting on the same side as him in this war that's going on?'  
  
'Well, he's my enemy to the general public, and we hate each other, so I can't go talk to him.'  
  
'Talk to Weasley, then.'  
  
'I can't talk to Weasley, he's her brother!'  
  
'Right.'  
  
'Damn, this is difficult. I've never had a thing for a woman who hasn't thrown herself at my feet.'  
  
'You've never actually had a thing for a woman period. All the girls you've been with have just been good shags, nothing more.'  
  
'True. But can we get back on topic please?'  
  
'Talk to Granger.'  
  
'I could do that...'  
  
With the decision to talk to Hermione Granger concerning Virginia Weasley and her opinion of him swirling through his conscious thought, Draco drifted into slumber in the early hours of the morning.  
  
End Flashback  
  
He pulled himself from his reverie, feeling tears damp on his cheeks at the memory of the blood pouring from the wrists of his beloved. Draco shook himself, banishing the past from his thoughts, and considered the fact that she had better get out of the shower soon, and he had better get her out of the hotel soon, or the whole surprise would be ruined.  
  
A/N: Longish chapter. Oh well. Took me a while to write. Anyway.  
  
I thought I should tell you that this story is going to be made up of a lot of flashbacks as it goes on, so things might get kind of confusing. Maybe. Kind of. Meh.  
  
Hope you enjoyed!  
  
Please review! 


	3. Of Remembrance

BECAUSE OF YOU  
  
CHAPTER THREE: OF REMEMBRANCE  
  
The water danced in a playful massage over her tanned and sweat-stained skin, as she stepped from bathroom floor to shower stall.  
  
As she poured shampoo from the bottle into her hand, the light filtering through the frosted glass door of the shower stall illuminated a patchwork of abstract art on her wrists. Thin lines, the exact width of a razor, played a delicate game of escapist suffering over her skin, though the smaller scars were overlaid by two large crosses, one on each wrist.  
  
She remembered, although faintly, the blood coursing from her veins on that night, three years ago, remembered the pain that was dulled to a throbbing ache by the pills she had taken beforehand, remembered the rain, the wind, the lightning, the thunder, remembered the water, greedily taking her life's blood for its own. She remembered strong arms pulling her from her self wrought tortured euphoria, remembered blurred colors and murmured words of comfort. She remembered a scream, remembered flashes of light, remembered choking hot liquid burning in her gut, and remembered faces, oh so many faces. All were crying, all were frightened, but none were sorry.  
  
Pushing the memories angrily from her mind, she washed her hair, closing her eyes and letting the soapy water flow over her upturned face. Her thoughts led her on a merry dance, from when next she would see her parents, to the wedding that had occurred but two nights ago, and to the surprise her lover, beloved, and husband no doubt had in store for her that evening.  
  
Grinning at the thought, she rinsed the soap from her eyes, and let her memories lead her back to the first date that had led to this life of perfection she had entered two nights ago.  
  
Flashback  
  
It had been six months since her attempt at killing herself, six months since she had stood in the wind and the rain and let her life pour from her wrists. But the hands of death had been swatted away by a knight wreathed in cold glory, a knight she couldn't shake from her mind.  
  
Not that she was trying particularly hard.  
  
She thought about him with every waking moment, wondered constantly what he was doing, whether he was thinking of her, and if so, was he smiling as she was? She had no classes with him, for he was a year her senior, but had had the chance to play him at Quidditch once since her Incident, as it had been dubbed by her family.  
  
A sour expression crossed her face at the recollection of her last meeting with her mother, and the redhead blinked back angry tears that had so quickly risen to the call of strong emotion. The frown on her face, the scowl furrowing her brows, were soon replaced by a glowing smile as she remembered snatching the Snitch from beneath her Knight's aristocratic nose.  
  
Indeed, it was true; the small golden ball had been hovering right in front of his face, and he hadn't seen it. The look on his face when she grabbed the bird-like magical thing had been priceless, and she giggled at the memory.  
  
Odd looks flew her way, from various parts of the corridor, for there was absolutely nothing amusing that they could see about the cold gray day that had greeted them with the dawn, and the fact that the weather would go about lessening the joy of a much anticipated Hogsmeade weekend.  
  
Smiling blissfully, completely oblivious to the constant chatter around her, Ginny Weasley padded down the stone corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, quite excited about the day to come. It would be the first time she was allowed out of the school without teacher supervision since her Incident. Not that she was ever alone anyway; her brother and his friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, found excuses to accompany her everywhere, when they themselves had nowhere to go, and she always seemed to be surrounded by people. So many people.  
  
Upon reaching the buzzing Great Hall, she seated herself at the Gryffindor table, perching on the bench in a practiced movement that would allow for easy escape should the need arise. The table soon filled around her, and she was careful to ignore the fact that, as with every other morning since her return to the normal school routine three and a half months ago, her elder brother and his cronies seated themselves beside and across from her. She was lucky, however, as they didn't attempt to engage her in conversation; rather, they talked around her, their words flowing over like unnoticed ripples in the air.  
  
She had just begun eating the steaming porridge and brown sugar, so thoughtfully provided by the house elves, when the mail arrived. Unlike the first years, who never ceased to be amazed by the mass of owls that circled the Hall every morning in deliverance of the post, Ginny hardly blinked, and continued with her breakfast.  
  
But when a lovely eagle owl landed gracefully on the table in front of her, carefully avoiding a large platter of eggs, she had no choice but to look up. The owl, a truly beautiful creature of tawny coloring, held out its leg to her, and it was only as she curiously took the small package from around its leg that she recognized the bird.  
  
Excitement and anxiety clouding her gaze, she looked towards the Slytherin table and wasn't surprised to see Draco Malfoy shoot her a pointed look as the bird left her table in a flutter of feathers. The blonde boy across the room left his table as well, though he walked rather than flew, and exited through the twin doors of oak that served as a gateway to and from the Hall.  
  
Understanding his meaning, though she was rather surprised and not a little bit giddy, Ginny followed suit, careful not to look too obvious. She was amazed, as she crossed the massive stone chamber, with its enchanted stone gray sky, that the Golden Trio didn't follow her, but wasn't disappointed that they hadn't.  
  
I suppose, she mused as she slipped unobtrusively out of the Great Hall, that they're too busy discussing how they're going to keep track of me in Hogsmeade. Shrugging mentally, she looked around the deserted Entrance Hall, wondering curiously where her White Knight had slipped off to.  
  
Not spying anyone hiding in the shadows, she crossed the Hall to the stone stairwell that led to the dungeons, and from there down to the Slytherin common room. Her gaze fell apprehensively on the elongated shadows that played tag through the darkness of the descending corridor, and she shivered at the cold that seemed to seep from behind an unseen barrier at the beginning of the staircase.  
  
A tentative step downwards took her through that barrier of invisible ice, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had always hated the dungeons of the school, had always felt the presence of death and pain weighing heavily on the underground chambers in which she had her Potions classes. Shivering slightly at the cold and the tingle of oh-so-familiar death on her skin, raising goose-bumps over her porcelain flesh, she took another step downwards, followed by another and another.  
  
All thoughts of her White Knight had fled her mind, her hands gone numb and clasped around the small package in her left palm in a defensive manner. Her gaze penetrated the thick and swirling mass of shadow that was the corridor with difficulty, and her footsteps rang with deceitful confidence through the silence of the corridor.  
  
So intent was she on surviving the cold that she didn't notice a pair of arms slip from behind a tapestry, felt only through a haze of suffering yearning those same arms pull her sideways, behind a hanging of heavy weave. It was warmth that brought her from the chill of survival that had settled on her mind, and unwittingly she pulled closer to the heat that spilled through a pair of soft black robes.  
  
A hand stroked her hair, the calming motion only slightly roughened by hands calloused from years of Quidditch practice. She sniffled into his chest, tears running unchecked and unnoticed by both down her ashen cheeks.  
  
"Ssh, pet, you're all right. It's okay. Ssh," An oh-so-familiar voice purred in her ear, the tone soft and reassuring, and one she so needed to hear.  
  
She raised her head at the sound, and wasn't surprised to see a look of concern on his face. She moved back a little, the better to look at him, and he wiped her tears away with his thumbs, cupping her face in his hands.  
  
A faint smile curled her blue-tinged lips, as the heat of his presence banished the chill fingers of shadow that plucked at her skin.  
  
"It's not usually this bad," she explained, though unable to explain what 'this' was.  
  
"'Sokay," he replied, knowing what she was talking about; he had seen her in the dungeons before.  
  
She sniffled again, and shrugged slightly. Her gaze fell to the small, silver-wrapped package clutched in her hand, and his followed.  
  
"Open it," he said, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.  
  
Nodding, she forced her fingers to rip back the delicate paper, and from there to open the small green envelope that had been concealed along with another package in the wrappings.  
  
The missive was simple, a mere request that, should she receive the package before speaking to him, she wait to open the actual gift until she was with him, and away from prying eyes.  
  
With another prompt from the blond still rubbing slow, comforting circles on the small of her back, she pulled the wrapping from the small package that weighed down the palm of her hand only slightly.  
  
Beneath the second layer of silver wrapping was a small box of black velvet, which he took gently from her warming fingers before she could open it.  
  
She knew that box. It was the same as one she had received from her grandfather on her seventh birthday. The same as one she had received from Tom, when she had gone to the Chamber of Secrets to await her death and the rise of a Dark Lord infused with her soul.  
  
Her hand went to her neck, around which two gold chains hung in cold bonds of different meaning; one love, one death. From each slim tracing of metallic sunlight hung the smallest of pendants; a heart encrusted in diamonds, and a dagger rimmed with rubies.  
  
She knew the process, as he slowly opened the ebon covered box, revealing a loop of gold, the pendant that was attached hidden beneath a shroud of silver cloth. Breath baited both by creeping shadows of apprehension and wonder, as with both times before, she looked from the contents of the box to his solemn face.  
  
Odd it was to see the face of Draco Malfoy in a mask of solemnity, of concentrated purpose, and she bit back the smile that threatened to ruin the game.  
  
For a game is what the process was, to Virginia Weasley, as she watched the lithe hands of her White Knight slowly uncover the charm attached to the sliver of gold. She knew that he was aware of what giving her this necklace would mean, could see it in the glint of his mercury gaze.  
  
The warm brandy of her eyes lit in delight as she saw the delicate symbol lying shrouded in soft silk inside the box. Her hand went from her neck to the tiny golden item, her fingers tracing over the cold metal in warming strokes.  
  
"It's beautiful," she breathed, looking up from the gift to its giver.  
  
"You're beautiful," he replied just as softly, pulling the chain from its small package, and clasping it around her neck.  
  
She felt the familiar tug at her heart, the same as she had felt on two previous occasions, as the chain settled around her pale throat. It was a form of binding, this gift, and she wondered what the charm, both physical and magical, meant.  
  
The light chains hanging from her neck were bittersweet devices; their good properties mixed with their bad, and the effects not always desirable. The gift from her grandfather had been a gift of love, had let her feel so much more than what she needed. The gift from Tom had been death, and since her reception of the bleeding dagger, she had felt the touch of both death and life tingling against her skin in a constant massage.  
  
But this... She didn't understand this one. Her porcelain toned hand lifted the item from where it hung just beneath the neckline of her school shirt, and she examined the small gem-lined symbol. It was the sign for infinity, the edges of the horizontal figure-eight covered in sparkling green emeralds.  
  
"I don't understand..." She murmured, letting go the nearly weightless chain and charm and looking back up at the one who gave it to her.  
  
"Infinity, dearest Virginia, means perpetuity, time unending. I trust you know how these charms work, as I have seen the other two." His voice, as he uttered the last words, held a nearly imperceptible chill that she caught only by hearing tuned to his moods and their facades.  
  
"I know how they work, I just don't understand this one. The one from my grandfather was clear, he explained it to me; the one from Tom was even clearer, though he didn't tell me the meaning of the dagger. But infinity?" Her tone, in contrast to his, was bitter and sharp, reminding him of one of the causes of their unlikely affection for one another.  
  
"You will feel time, darling. You told me, once, that you often wonder whether or not time is actually passing, or if we are simply repeating things that have been played out before, like a play being stopped and replayed. You will feel both hope and fear that, with the passing of time, things do change, get better, and get worse."  
  
She smiled.  
  
"I didn't think you would remember that conversation..."  
  
"I remember every one, love."  
  
"Everyone else just passes all that sort of stuff off as temporary insanity; they don't like the fact that I feel things."  
  
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands overlapping on the small of her back. She was taken by surprise, unused to seeing or experiencing anything of this sort from the usually emotionless Draco.  
  
I could get used to this, she mused, before lacing her arms over his shoulders, and resting her head on his chest. He was quite comfortable to lean on, she had noticed over the past few months, and had always relished the fact that she was the only one who had ever experienced this sensation with the man in front of her.  
  
When they pulled away from each other, some minutes later, she grinned cheekily up at him, her usual high-spirits returned.  
  
"We'd better go, eh? If we don't, people'll start to think things..." Her voice had lost its previous scared child quality, and was once again the spunky, fiery tone of a wonderful actress.  
  
He could see from the shadows in her eyes, cast by the rekindled flame of her personality, that she was still scared, still confused. But, like her, he was able to put on a mask that covered even the strongest of emotions, and he let the concern fade from his face.  
  
"Shall we?" He asked, holding out his arm to her. "I imagine we can still make it to Hogsmeade, if you'd like to go."  
  
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, and a smirk reminiscent of his own curled her lips.  
  
"Have you any idea how much the two of us being seen together, without bloodshed and wands, will frighten the people of Hogsmeade? They're bound to think the Apocalypse is coming, or some such thing..." Her voice held barely veiled laughter, as the two made the short journey up the stairs from the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall, which was now swarming with students preparing to make the trek to Hogsmeade.  
  
End Flashback  
  
The jolt of cold water on her warm skin brought Ginny back to reality and the present, and she turned off the water, stepping from shower to steaming bathroom proper. Wrapping a towel of plain white terry cloth 'round her small form, she grabbed her hairbrush and began the long and arduous process of making herself look presentable via muggle ways.  
  
A/N: There you go. Boring chapter, I think, but whatever. It'll have to do, I'm afraid, until I have more time to write. As it is, I've written this one in a bunch of five and ten minute spurts, so I apologize if it seems a little choppy and odd.  
  
I figure that, once finals are over, I'll go back and edit everything, and resubmit it all. Just to tell you...  
  
But... Ta ta for now!  
  
Oh, and by the way, I have received information that Ginny's real name isn't, in fact, Virginia, but Ginevre. I ask you now if you would like me to go through and change all the "Virginia"s to "Ginevre"s. If you want me to change it, tell me so in a review. If not, then, well, just tell me not to change it. Meh. 


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